The Interpretation of MurderJed Rubenfeld
This post will tell you how to write a successful novel. Follow these four easy steps and you too will be able to mimic the formula of today's author:
List everything that interests you
Meticulously research each topic
Tie everything together
Be as complicated as possible
That'll do it! Follow those steps and you'll have a successful novel. I'm not saying it will be a particularly good novel, mind you. But Jed Rubenfeld's Interpretation of Murder was successful without being particularly good, so there you go.
I was quite excited to begin The Interpretation of Murder, as it contains a few of my favorite things: murder, psychology, mystery – even a little Shakespeare. What’s not to like? I thought.
Hm.
Unfortunately, while Rubenfeld does blend the above elements, he doesn’t do so successfully. Rubenfeld behaves like a chef who throws every possible ingredient into the pot without any care for whether or not they taste good together. The ingredients, by the way, aren’t even similar: for example, the points of view. The narrative follows several different characters and is, as such, told mostly in the third person – except for that of one character, Stratham Younger. Why on earth is he the only character to speak in the first person? It’s just odd.
And then there’s the "denouement," if you could call it that. But first, the backstory: the novel begins as a young girl’s body is found. It’s 1909, and young women are not often found whipped, cut, and strangled. The next day, another young victim surfaces, only this one fortunately survives the attack. Unfortunately, she has amnesia and cannot remember her attacker. Fortunately, Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung have just arrived in America, so they can help solve the crime. Whew!
Now for the end. The end is so convoluted and unnecessarily complicated that to even ponder it again threatens a migraine. Plots diverge and converge willy-nilly. (In fact, several subplots, including one about this Thaw person are underdeveloped and highly unnecessary. Equally unnecessary is a subplot regarding those trying to discredit Freud. Why so complicated?) Speaking of Freud, his role, which sounds so important when reading about the novel, is, in actuality, surprisingly small. Psychology is plunked in with all the subtlety of a cleaver, and such conversations have a decidedly stilted feel. (Rubenfeld took Freud and Jung's dialogue directly from their written words.)
These flaws could be forgivable if the crime were no so damn ... silly? overly complicated? highly improbable? How about the fact that the crime, when discovered, is not what we were led to believe -- instead, it's rather quite boring. In fact, when the facts come to light, I couldn't help but think of Scooby-Doo, as several scenes feature a nice, complete explanation by a dog-faced perp who "woulda gotten away for it if it weren't for those asshole kids." And that's the worst part about the end: all the explanation. What ever happened to showing, not telling? Especially not telling through tedious, stilted conversation.
Oy vey indeed.
In a nutshell: This one had promise but sorely missed the mark.
Bibliolatry Scale: 2 out of 6 stars
That'll do it! Follow those steps and you'll have a successful novel. I'm not saying it will be a particularly good novel, mind you. But Jed Rubenfeld's Interpretation of Murder was successful without being particularly good, so there you go.
I was quite excited to begin The Interpretation of Murder, as it contains a few of my favorite things: murder, psychology, mystery – even a little Shakespeare. What’s not to like? I thought.
Hm.
Unfortunately, while Rubenfeld does blend the above elements, he doesn’t do so successfully. Rubenfeld behaves like a chef who throws every possible ingredient into the pot without any care for whether or not they taste good together. The ingredients, by the way, aren’t even similar: for example, the points of view. The narrative follows several different characters and is, as such, told mostly in the third person – except for that of one character, Stratham Younger. Why on earth is he the only character to speak in the first person? It’s just odd.
And then there’s the "denouement," if you could call it that. But first, the backstory: the novel begins as a young girl’s body is found. It’s 1909, and young women are not often found whipped, cut, and strangled. The next day, another young victim surfaces, only this one fortunately survives the attack. Unfortunately, she has amnesia and cannot remember her attacker. Fortunately, Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung have just arrived in America, so they can help solve the crime. Whew!
Freud: Psssst. Carl.
Jung: Ja?
Freud: Can you believe zis shit?
Jung: Ja, and she hasn’t even gotten to ze vurst part yet.
Freud: Vat part vas zat? I sought ze whole zing was ze vurst.
Jung: Oh no, ze end vas by far ze vurst.
Freud: Oy vey. If I believed in an afterlife, I'd be spinning in my grave.
Jung: Right on, brozha.
Now for the end. The end is so convoluted and unnecessarily complicated that to even ponder it again threatens a migraine. Plots diverge and converge willy-nilly. (In fact, several subplots, including one about this Thaw person are underdeveloped and highly unnecessary. Equally unnecessary is a subplot regarding those trying to discredit Freud. Why so complicated?) Speaking of Freud, his role, which sounds so important when reading about the novel, is, in actuality, surprisingly small. Psychology is plunked in with all the subtlety of a cleaver, and such conversations have a decidedly stilted feel. (Rubenfeld took Freud and Jung's dialogue directly from their written words.)
These flaws could be forgivable if the crime were no so damn ... silly? overly complicated? highly improbable? How about the fact that the crime, when discovered, is not what we were led to believe -- instead, it's rather quite boring. In fact, when the facts come to light, I couldn't help but think of Scooby-Doo, as several scenes feature a nice, complete explanation by a dog-faced perp who "woulda gotten away for it if it weren't for those asshole kids." And that's the worst part about the end: all the explanation. What ever happened to showing, not telling? Especially not telling through tedious, stilted conversation.
Oy vey indeed.
In a nutshell: This one had promise but sorely missed the mark.
Bibliolatry Scale: 2 out of 6 stars
3 comments:
Ooh-err, have to admit to really liking this novel - but I'm from Essex and, hey, everything's complicated to us!
:))
A
xxx
ze vurst!
Great review of a not so great book!
great, great review! and the short dialogue between freud and jung was mind-blowing :)))
from my experience in publishing i have learned that you have a greater succes when your writing is more difficult, complicated and has an elitist manner. if you say the same think - describe the same idea - in a simple and clean manner, nobody pays attention to you.
maybe just a little bit of snobbery :)
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